Teams of TF2: The Untold Stories
by FreeSocksForAll
Summary: We all know the mercs of TF2. But did you know that they aren't the only ones? They are the Mercs of Team 001. In this story, we are going to delve into the rich and colorful stories of the Teams of Team Fortress 2.
1. Introduction

**A/N: Why do I always start my stories and chapters with these things? And in bold text? Uhg. Tacky. Let's try some italics. Those are fancy.**

_Alright, so I—Uhg, what's this crap? I liked the bold better. Sheesh. I think I'll try Underlines._

So, I—aahg! God dammit! Strikethroughs?

Aah, Fuck this, I'm switching back to bold.

**So! After that... minor distraction, I can get to the point.**

**My two favorite games happen to be Minecraft and Team Fortress 2. I already have a Minecraft fanfic going, so I figured, _what the hey, I have a week to write this shit. I may as well expand my palate. _Ugh, there's the italics again.**

**So I wanted to write a TF2 fanfic. Problem was, I had no idea what to write about. Then a friend of mine had a great idea: why not write a fanfic about a team composed entirely of other persons' OCs? A fanfic with material provided entirely by the readers: the characters, the objective, the location. I just add a plot, and boom! Stuff happens!**

**I'm not entirely sure how this is gonna work, though, so let's give it a shot. First of all, though, I'm gonna give some background to how the world of these stories is gonna work, in the form of a quick, descriptive little introductory paragraph. Yay, story time!**

**(Disclaimer (I don't know why this is necessary): I do not own TF2 or any of the characters (why do I need to do that? Aren't I protected by parody law or some shit like that?))**

_"Two idiot brothers fighting for worthless land makes one hell of a story. Documentaries are usually soul-sucking loads of crap for old people and nerds, but in the documentary video game Team Fortress 2, we make documentaries a jam-pack gore-fest of hats and glory!"_

-_TF2 (Fake) Publicity Blurb_

We all know the beloved characters of Team Fortress 2: the scrappy Scout, the powerful Heavy, the dapper Spy, etc., etc. These are the characters of the game, sure, but did you know that they are based off the original team of modern mercenaries? They are Team 001, warriors of 2Fort. But did you know there are other teams, each with their own set of members, such as Team 029. Did you know that their Scout is from Ireland, loves rugby, and whacks his foes with a cricket bat? Or the Medic of Team 090, who happens to be from China, and cares for mice instead of birds. Yes, the locations the mercs of the many Teams come from varies with each group, but the mercs we know and love are from 001, the first and best of many. But what about the other teams? Come join us, and learn their story, on this special program: _Teams of_ _TF2: The Untold Stories._

**So, obviously, for this story, I needed some OCs. Eight, to be exact (I already had a scout of my own, so I'm allowing myself to be a little selfish).**

**Things that might not be the same as the original mercs:**

**Gender**

**Personality**

**Appearance**

**Location of Origin**

**Age**

**Name**

**Interests/Hobbies**

**Weapons**

**A few other notes: I cannot write fluff and/or pairings. Believe me, I've tried to write about characters in relationships, but have always failed miserably. So this story will most likely be more action/friendships.**

**That should about cover it. If this works well enough, I might do it again with a new crop of characters.**

**I'm really excited about this idea. I hope it takes off.**

**P.S I temporarily deleted this story because one of the largest bullies in school caught me posting the first chapter, and I didn't want to risk him Googling the title and getting new "material" to use against me.**

**P.S.S I also need a Demo and a Heavy. They don't seem to be very popular classes for OCs.**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: So heer eet ees, weeth and over-eegzadgerated French accent. Don't worry, the French people in this story don't talk like this.**

The Administrator sat at her desk, smoking a cigarette. Her eyes flicked around the TV covered room, watching the many battles taking place before her. Glancing at the giant purple timer at the top of them all, she leaned forward to speak into her mic.

"_Attention. Five minutes left in the mission. Five minutes left in the mission._"

She leaned back, watching the teams move into a slightly more intense frenzy than before. None of the first few teams were making much progress, even with the increased pace. The same was true for the next few. The Administrator sighed internally, pressing a spindly-fingered hand to her forehead. It seemed that they were going to have yet _another_ company-wide _tie_. As the timer ticked to zero, she leaned forward once more.

_"Stalemate. You're all losers."_

The mercs stopped fighting, mostly because their weapons were no longer working. They all trudged back to their various bases, throwing angry glances back at their foes. The Administrator sighed once more, audibly this time.

"Umm, excuse me, ma'am?"

"_What is it, Miss Pauling?"_

"We'll, based on the recent streak of ties, it appears that Blutarch wants us to set up another BLU Team."

Another sigh.

"_Alright, fine. What is he after?"_

"We don't know yet."

_"And where does he want it set up?"_

"We don't know that yet either."

The Administrator allowed herself a small facepalm. Working for the two biggest idiots in the world was a stressful job.

_"Inform Redmond of this. He'll have us putting together a RED team in no time."_

"Yes, ma'am."

[]

Ella Fontaine stood at the center of Grand Central Station. She glanced at her instructions again. She was supposed to be meeting the Six o' Clock from Union Station right about now. Either it was late, or she was lost, and neither of those prospects were too appealing to her right now. She was about turn around and leave before a train with the words _Union Station _embossed on the front entered the station. It stopped, and a bunch of harassed-looking passengers stampeded out of a car to her right. She glanced at the paper for the name of her newest teammate. _Jason Stridewell, _She read. _Scout. _Well, that explained the general rush to exit. Sighing, she entered the car.

She expected the new scout to be doing what scouts usually did: talking. She did not, however, expect to find him being held to his chair by two large men whilst babbling incoherently and rapidly, but yet, that was what she found. One of the men looked up at her.

"You here to pick him up?" he said, voice strained with effort, "You have my pity. He's had three cans of some kinda energy drink" –he kicked at crushed _BONK!_ can on the floor—"and he's been going nuts ever since."

The scout screamed something that was probably "let me go" but it was difficult to understand him through the sea of rapidly stuttered curses.

"His bag's over there," grunted the second man, "don't know how you're gonna get him outta here, but—"

His sentence was cut short by a knee to the face. He yelped and let go of the scout's arm. The other man looked up and was met with a fist to the jaw. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. Ella leapt forward to restrain the lunatic, but grasped only air. Her head whipped around; the scout was sprinting off the train, whooping and hollering. _Merde, _she thought, grabbing his bag and sprinting after him.

She found him running rapid circles around a terrified-looking elderly couple. How he could run so fast and talk incessantly at the same time, she didn't know. After standing helpless for a second, she flung the bag at him in desperation. It missed. He jeered at her, running another lap around the old couple. The old man barked something about kids these days. He swung his walker at the runner, tripping him. The scout faceplanted with a resounding crack. Ella squatted down to examine him.

"Is he…?" she lifted up his head, "I don't believe it. 'E's knocked himself out."

She sighed again. _Zhat's one what to get him off zhe train, _she thought. So without another word, she picked up the scout, grunting with the effort of lifting him. She slung his limp body over one shoulder and his bag over the other, and walked out of the station, being sure to bang his head against the door as she left.

[]

Jason Stridewell woke up in the back of an unfamiliar car for the second time that month (but seeing as the first occurrence wasn't entirely legal, so we'll leave that information undisclosed). He sat up, clutching a hand to his forehead and groaning. He felt at his nose. Damn, that was broken. He was about to check for any other injuries before he noticed the person behind the wheel. Deciding to question them about his whereabouts, he turned on his usual charm.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, kicking at the seat, "The fuck are you taking me?"

"Glad to see zhat you're awake," she said, sounding irritated, "I'm Ella. You are Jason, our Scout, non?"

"Yeah. What're you from, France?"

"Yes."

"So what are you then, the Spy?"

"Not everyone from France is a spy. I am zhe Sniper."

"Yeah, whatever. Where are we going?"

"Airport. To pick up seven other teammates."

"Mmm-hmm. Hey, if you're French, what are you doing in America?"

"Does it matter?"

"…no."

"Zhen shut up. Were almost zhere."

He muttered something very offensive about France and its people.

"Just shut up until we get zhere."

He kicked the back of her seat again.

"Are we there yet?"

She sighed. This was going to be a _long _drive.

[]

"OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod," screamed the passenger of seat 52, "Someone! Help! He's set me on fire again!"

She mashed the call button furiously while the man behind her giggled with glee. An attendant rushed to her seat with a fire extinguisher already at the ready. The fire went out, and the man _awwwed _in a way that would almost make you feel sorry for him, had he not tried to set everyone and everything on fire at least once during this flight.

"Sir," sighed the attendant, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "Diplomatic Immunity or not, I swear to _God _that if you try and set anyone on fire again, I will throw you off this plane before we even touch the ground."

"But can you not see?" begged the man, a maniac glint in his eyes, "The fire, it is so beautiful!"

"Sir, I repeat myself, I swear to _God—_" she started, before a woman in a white lab coat pushed her out of the way. The attendant yelped and tripped, falling on her rear. She turned, a scolding already forming in the back of her mind, but the lab coated woman was paying her no mind. She was too busy giving a rushed diagnosis and rapidly attending to the wounds.

"Patient: Carla Clifford, Class: Spy," muttered the medic, "Injury: third degree burns, Treatment: apply Medigun."

"Ma'am, I've already told you, you can't—"

But the woman ignored her, and pulled a Medigun off her back with a flourish and pointed it at her patient. The attendant rushed around rapidly, attempting to calm down the other passengers. Then another passenger burst into flame, and the whole of the plane was in chaos. A voice that nobody heard dinged over the loudspeaker.

"_Attention, passengers," _said the voice in cheery tones, "_We will be landing shortly. Please secure your safety belts to ensure no one gets hurt."_

The plane tilted down towards the landing strip. Un-strapped-in passengers slid down to the front of the plane, screaming. The plane tilted further downwards, suddenly too heavy at the front. The pilot and copilot both pulled up as hard as they could. The ground rushed at them, looming and deadly. Every passenger aboard held their breath…

[]

_"…and rumors of a plane crash have been swirling all over the place for the past two days. Honestly, Miss Pauling, all I asked you to do was assemble a team. Said team wreaked a public plane, killing the Demoman AND the Heavy in the crash, along with several dozen civilians."_

"Well, technically, Administrator, it was only the Pyro who did that."

"_Just… Fix it, will you? Cover up the crash and kill two members of the BLU team. The brothers will never know a thing."_

"Yes ma'am. And where do you want to send the team?"

"_Has Blutarch decided on a location?" _

"He said to send them to conquer the moon."

"_The moon? Impossible. Just send them to the closest Tuefort."_

"There's an opening for both teams at Tuefort 4. One of the spies there tried to sabotage the respawn machine and got sucked into the generator. The resulting explosion killed both teams and destroyed the machine. We fixed it, but…"

"_But what?"_

"Both teams died, there was no saving them."

"_That's of no importance. Send the new teams to their bases as soon as possible."_

"…yes, ma'am."

[]

Six mercenaries sat in a room labeled "RED SPAWN." A banner with "WELCOME NEW MERCINARIES" written on it hung above them, still smoking slightly from the various attempts of a certain individual to burn it.

In the middle of the circle of chairs sat a woman clad in purple, whose nametag read _Miss Pauling. _She was looking irritated as usual, and that usually was due to the Scout, and this was once again the case.

Jason Stridewell stepped into the room, looking like he was attempting to sneak in. All seven heads turned in his direction. His shoulders sagged and he stomped over to an open chair, scowling.

"The Scout, I assume?" asked Miss Pauling, rolling her eyes, "Why are you late?"

"I was—um—trying to, uh…" He tried and failed valiantly at finding an excuse. Ella snickered.

"You are the _fastest class," _scolded Pauling,"There is no excuse for your tardiness."

"No wait! I was, uh, attacked! The BLUs, they, um, ambushed me! Yeah, that's what they did."

"Scout, that is utterly—"

"An' I killed 'em all, too."

She sighed.

"Let's just get started then. Alright then, let's begin. So were going to go in a circle and introduce ourselves. Tell us your name, class, homeland, and anything else we might need to know."

Jason opened his mouth to start talking, but was cut off by a sharp glance from Pauling.

"You go last, or we'll be here all day. Now, who wants to start us off?"

No one said anything for a moment. Then one of the mercs spoke up.

"Um, hello. My name is Michael. Michael Fyre, that is, from Italy. I am Pyro. And I would like to say… that I will do my best not to burn you!"

He sat back, grinning at his teammates for a second before another merc sighed and spoke.

"Carla Clifford, Spy, from Dublin. Got a fake leg, but I still could kick the arse of any of ya'."

The other mercs began following suit.

"Kris Hatfield, Engineer. Kansas. That's all I'm really willing to tell you at this point."

"Florence Luft, I am Medic. From Italy. I will be making sure that you are not dying."

"Ella Fontaine, Sniper, from France. _Il est bon_ to meet you."

"I am Louis. Soldier. I do not know which of you is trying to kill me, but—"

"Hi I'm Jason the Scout and sorry I went too soon but I was bored."

Miss Pauling sighed.

"Soldier, do you want to finish?"

"No, I couldn't think of anything threatening enough."

"Well, if that's all, your first battle is in the morning at six."

"Do we really have to get up—"

"Yes, Scout, you do. Now if any of you have any sense, you'll get to bed. If not, there's cake in the break room."

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. There'll be more action in the next chapter, I assure you.**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: TACTICAL CHAPTAR INCOMIN'**

**…m'srry this took so long… my computer's screen done bloke.**

**"**_Mission begins in five…"_

The Mercenaries of RED and BLU readied their weapons.

_"Four…"_

After a week-long ceasefire, they were nothing but ready to tear each other apart.

_"Three…"_

Soldiers loaded their rocket launchers, Snipers checked their scopes.

_"Two…"_

Spies put on their disguises and Scouts ran in circles…

_"One…"_

A horn blared through the speakers of Tuefort 4. The doors slid open. Seven mercenaries stood at the door of RED spawn, weapons ready, full of courage and ready to kill.

…

"…you go first."

"I'm not going, make the Scout go first."

"What!? No, I'm not gonna—"

But everyone was nodding their agreement. Louis pushed Jason out of the door.

"Hey!" the young Scout protested, "I'm not gonna go out there and get killed! I've got—"

"Ach, quit being a pussy," piped up Ella, "You _are _zhe fastest."

"But—"

"Just _go."_

And so, grumbling as he went, Jason ran off. He poked his head out of the door, looking across the bridge. Another Scout, a girl, was peering out from behind the wall next to the BLU spawn. She shot her scattergun at Jason, who yelped and sprinted back into spawn. He crashed through the door and fell on his already broken nose.

"Aughaugdammit!"

Michael leapt forward, his mask only half-on.

"Mfoo mkr?"

"GUYSWECAN'TGOOUTTHEYGOTLIKEFIFTYGUYS!"

This was all said in one breath. The other mercs looked at each other.

"What?" asked Carla.

Jason opened his mouth to respond, but before he spoke a hand clapped over his face and pushed him back. He fell on his back, and Louis stepped forward, Black Box at the ready.

"He said that he is a _punta _who can't fight for shit. I'm going first."

And he stepped out the door. Kris the Engie sighed.

"Dammit, he's right. Let's go."

She ran out, and everyone else followed (Ella was careful to step on Jason) until only the Scout and Pyro remained. Michael lifted his mask and watched his teammates go, and with a hearty sigh, walked over, got a medkit, and tossed it to Jason.

"Patch yourself up. He was just trying to motivate you."

And he pulled on his mask and ran outside, straight into a bloodbath.

The BLU Scout had already grabbed the RED's intel. Kris ran after her, firing her Rescue Ranger wildly. Michael leapt into action, shooting a burst of fire from his flamethrower. The girl burst into flame, but didn't stop running. She went to leap across the bridge, only to be airblasted from behind. She flew across, landing on her face. She got up, wincing slightly.

"Ha!" she taunted, "Thanks for the quick getaway, suck—AAAAAA"

Her words were cut short by a small red projectile. She fell off the bridge, dead. Michael lowered his flare gun, giggling. Kris thanked and ran back to the intel room. Michael jumped the gap to the bridge and went to get their intel. He reached for it, only to be knocked off the bridge by a large blue explosion. He crashed into the fence and fell into the water. He gasped, before a jolt of pain short through him and he was torn apart.

[]

Louis sprinted out of the BLU base, BLU briefcase strapped to his back. He was about to leap across the bridge, when a loud voice rang out.

"HA, HA! YOU'LL HAVE TO TRY HARDER THAN THAT TO BEAT THE _SPACE MARINES, _FIREBUG!"

A man, the BLU Soldier, stood in the middle of the bridge, thrusting a Righteous Bison over his head triumphantly. Louis stopped staring and hefted his Black Box onto his shoulder. He aimed at the man's feet and fired. The rocket flew at the BLU, who turned, a look of horror on his face. Only reflexes saved him; he leapt sideways, the splash propelling him into the fence. He fell into the water. Louis grinned and continued over the bridge. An explosion sounded from somewhere below him. He spun around, only to see the BLU Soldier flying at him, Market Gardner at the ready. The shovel hit his face with a loud _crack, _and he fell from the bridge and into oblivion.

[]

The RED team was annihilated. With the initial loss of both of their only heavy hitters, there was nothing they could do. Jason had made a bonked-up run halfway through the battle and managed to grab the BLU intel, but was killed by a mini-sentry on the way back. Carla was shot on accident by the BLU Sniper, who was trying to get at Kris. He didn't need to fire again, because the BLU Spy got there first.

In a last-ditch effort to get the intel, Florence put an Ubercharge on the Sniper, who pulled out her Bow and got busy. They made it all the way to the BLU intel room, until the Uber ran out in front of the enemy soldier. Florence managed to escaped with the intel (Ella wasn't so lucky). She would have made it too, had she not run into the BLU Pyro.

Florence pulled out her Ubersaw. If she was going to go down, she would go down fighting. Footsteps sounded from around the corner; Florence readied her saw. A flamethrower peeked from around the corner. She jumped out and swung blindly. She felt her saw hit flesh and the BLU gave a muffled yelp of pain. She pulled back to swing again, pressing her advantage, before there was a click her world was set alight with a loud _hiss. _

[]

At approximately 4:15 that day, they all woke up in the respawn room heads spinning and stomachs aching, the aftereffects of being pulled apart and put back together again. Florence woke up last with a soft groan to see three of her teammates standing around her. Only Michael seemed to notice her; he smiled and waggled his fingers at her. The others were already deep in conversation.

"-just saying, at least we got some hot chicks on our team."

"You're a pig, Scout."

"I'm just saying, at least we're not some sausage-party team like the BLUs."

"The BLUs have some girls," piped up Michael, "The Scout and the Pyro."

"'ow can you tell zhat zhe Pyro is female?" inquired Ella. Michael just shrugged.

Florence cleared her throat softly (Ella jumped).

"When you are all finished discussing how, er, 'hot' I am, I would like some water, _per favore._"

The Scout immediately jumped up and ran to get water. Ella sighed and rolled her eyes again. In his haste to bring the water back, Jason tripped over the bed, spilling water all over Michael. Michael immediately jumped up, swearing so fast in Italian that Florence's mouth fell open in a small _o_.

"Aw, geez. Are you okay, man!?"

"_Farlo Fuori! Farlo Fuori!" _Michael yelled, trying to wipe it off. When it didn't wipe, he ran out of the room, screaming for a towel. The other three watched him, bemused, until a small cough made them all jump. None of them had noticed Carla sneak in amongst the bedlam, and she stood behind them.

"Whatcha' doin' here, spook?"

Carla stood behind them. She took a long draw on a cigarette ("Shouldn't be smoking in here," muttered Florence).

"We've been called in fer a meetin'," she said, "Something 'bout a new teammate. God knows we need one. Be in the meeting room by 4:25."

[]

The entire RED team, save one, sat around the table in the meeting room. Along with them, Miss Pauling sat there, eyebrows creased slightly. She seemed to be chewing her tongue, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't. Finally, she opened her mouth and closed it again, before asking,

"Alright, where's the Pyro? Did something happen?"

Ella snorted.

"Jackass 'ere," she jerked her chin towards the Scout, "spilled water on him."

Jason muttered something about "not my fault" and "you tripped me."

Miss Pauling sighed and checked her watch. It was 4:32. She sighed again.

"Alright, who wants to go get—"

She was cut short when Michael walked through the door. Jason waved, but Michael just scowled.

"Pyro, why are you late?"

"Got water on my shirt," he muttered, looking at the floor, "had to burn it. Took a while."

"That doesn't make any-," Pauling sighed, "Never mind. Just sit down."

He did, and she took on a more formal tone.

"As you all very well know, you were defeated today, most likely due to your lack of _heavy_ artillery. The BLU team knows this, and has taken advantage of it, with their aggressive Pyro and Soldier. We've arranged to get you a new teammate, on the grounds that BLU gets one as well. They will be getting a Demoman, you will be getting a Heavy," she spoke into a walkie-talkie, "Heavy, you can come in now."

The door was opened, and in the frame stood a man larger than any of them had ever seen. He walked in and sat next to Michael, the flimsy chair creaking in protest. They all caught a glance of the words _Semper Fidelus _on his arm before he pulled his sleeve down. He looked around awkwardly, tapping his fingers.

"Well, go on," encouraged Pauling, "introduce yourself."

He sat there for a second, looking at the wall, before coughing and saying in a surprisingly soft voice,

"M'name's Noah. Schneider. Noah Schneider. I'm the Heavy Weapons Guy. M'looking forward to meeting all of you."

He coughed again. There was another awkward silence. Miss Pauling clapped her hands together.

"Alright then. Good, you're all introduced, then. You've got about two days to get used to each other. I have to go introduce the BLUs to their—I mean, I have to file some paperwork. Boring stuff. Bye."

And she left, leaving them all awkwardly staring at their new teammate. The silence was broken again when she ran back; some of her had fallen into her eyes.

"Oh, and we're allowing you some changes to your uniforms," she said, throwing a _Mann Co. Store _catalog on the table, "Bye!"

They sat in silence again. Kris was the first to get up. She reached for the catalog.

"Well, if you all don't object, I'm going to—hey!"

Louis had jumped up and snatched it up first. He was rifling through it to the section labeled _Soldier_. Florence was looking over his shoulder. Kris looked dejected and left, and everyone, save Louis and Florence, followed suit, and Noah went to find a room.

**A/N: FINALLY. This took too. damn. long. Won't happen again. I swear on the quality of my writing.**

**And I still need a Demo. ****Y U guys no like Demos? Seriously. **

**But anyways. See you next time!**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Ugh. This may take a while. I've been playing too much CS:S lately. Can't afford GO yet. Bleh, poor.**

**Also (feel free to skip this, I'm just thinking out loud. I may do this a bit. Well, thinking out on my screen.) Does anyone else remember from elementary school the boy/girl trap games? Two boys/girls sit on both sides of a girl/boy and yell "GIRL/BOY TRAPPED!" It seems that there are a frack-load of girls on this site. Nothing wrong with that, just thinkin'.**

"Yo, big guy, whaddaya think?"

Noah didn't respond. Having been the last one to arrive at the base, he was the last one to pick a room. Since no one else wanted to be in a constant state of annoyance, he was stuck next door to the Scout, and therefore the first to deal with him in the morning. So he had put on his class uniform, tied on his bandanna and put on the necklace his fiancé had given him, he had stepped outside to see…

"I said, whaddaya think a' this?"

He relented and looked at the scrapper. His initial reaction was of a boy who had tried to wear his big brother's clothes and found them too big: Jason had found a baggy pair of jeans that he had pulled up past his waist, and a large red hoodie. Noah couldn't help laughing.

"What?" demanded the runner.

"You look like a little kid in his dad's clothes."

"Aw, shuddap."

But he stomped back into his room to change anyways. Noah chuckled again and went down to the kitchen for breakfast with his team. Last night, he had gone to each of his teammate's rooms and introduced himself. Ella and Carla were already there, deep in an argument about football (**A/N: Soccer for my fellow Americans)**. They didn't seem to notice him enter. Michael was there too, a cup of coffee in his hands. He waved, and Noah sat next to him.

"Odd, isn't it?" said Michael, looking at the bickering assassins.

"What?" asked Noah.

"How two people can be so involved into something they do not do."

"Yeah."

"I would not know how Italy is doing, though."

Noah wasn't paying much attention. He nodded, glancing at the fridge.

"Mm-hm."

"I have been in asylum for four years. And a coma before that. It is hard to re-tie lost ties."

Noah didn't say anything. He had gotten up to get something and was looking through the fridge.

"Must be hard for you too, Signore Heavy. Missing family."

There was a loud _bang! _Noah had jumped up so fast he had hit his head on the fridge's top shelf.

"What?" he yelled (Ella and Carla looked over; he lowered his voice), "How do you know?"

"Your tattoo," whispered Michael, "You are in the U.S Marines, yes? Long tours of duty."

"Oh. Yeah, yeah."

Noah's breathing slowed. The Pyro couldn't have known, that was his private—no, he couldn't have known. He breathed normally again and went back to the fridge. He braced himself for the questions that would surely be asked, but was spared by the sudden reappearance of the Scout.

Jason had found himself something that actually fit: a red tossle cap with a diamond pattern on it, a pair of black hockey pants, and a red down vest. Ella snorted.

"What?"

"You look like a failed 'ip-'op dancer."

"Yeah, well, nobody asked you. You didn't even change anything."

He had a point. The only difference Noah could see from the standard Sniper wear was that she had changed the color of her glasses from orange to purple. Carla, however, had redone the thing completely: she was wearing skinny jeans and a tank top. Noah didn't see how this was a small change, but he was too concerned with getting breakfast to care. He dug through the fridge, looking for something quick and breakfast-y. He was pulling out a baggie of scrambled eggs when Louis and Florence entered the room, deep in conversation about the changes they were allowed.

"—can't see why you would wasn't to get something called the 'Kringle Collection' in the middle of summer, Louis. We're nowhere near Christmas"

"Yes, true, but it looks really cool with the Ground Control. How they sell new hair is lost on me…"

They stopped talking when they noticed Noah staring at them. There was an awkward silence for a bit (all this silence was getting ridiculous, thought Noah), but it was broken by Jason, who threw an arm around Louis' shoulders, saying through the burrito he was eating,

"Yeah, you'll look, great, princess, we all love playing dress up."

He laughed at his own joke, spraying bits of cold beef on the table. Louis pushed Jason's arm off of him, rolling his eyes.

"Deviations with the uniform are standard practice for mercenaries, Scout, it's—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Jason cut him off, "Just don't invite me to any tea parties… _punta." _

Louis' nostrils flared and he clenched his fists. He glared at his teammate.

"Scout…" he said warningly.

"What, are you gonna cry? You gonna cry now!? Because we already got four girls on this team, we don't need another puss—gkhack!"

Louis had grabbed him by the neck and tackled him to the floor. They rolled around, punching and scratching each other, until they knocked over the table. Ella fell out of her chair, and Michael jumped back, clutching his coffee.

"You think you're suck a little hotshot, eh, you damn stupid _gilipollas_?"

"Yeah, well maybe don't call me a pussy in front of the whole damn _team, _ya bull-humpin' asshat!"

"You ran like a coward!"

"You ain't never been shot! You don't know what it's like!"

"You don't know that! You don't know ANYTH—grk!"

Noah's big brother instincts had kicked in, and he had grabbed them both by the neck and picked them up, holding them apart so that they couldn't reach each other.

"What the _damn hell _is wrong with you!?" he yelled, and they stopped fighting. The fact that Noah was actually _shouting _seemed to shock them out of their respective rages.

"You! Stop with your idiotic little grudge, Scout, he's your goddamn teammate! And you!" he rounded on Louis, who shrank back a little, "Attacking him because of a little middle-school insult! The hell is wrong with _both _of you!?"

And he stomped out of the room, the fallen table shaking as he went. Jason watched him go, rubbing his neck, before sighing and turning to Louis.

"Look, man, I'm sorry, awrite? It's just where I'm from, ya don't take shit from nobody, and…"

He trailed off. Louis said nothing, a muscle in his cheek twitching. There was another silence, broken suddenly by Noah, who trudging into the room looking embarrassed.

"Forgot m' eggs," he muttered, walking back out. Jason watched him go, before turning back to Louis, a hopeful look on his face. Louis didn't say anything for a moment, then turned and left the room. Jason looked at the floor. Florence hesitated for a second, before giving her teammates an apologetic look and following him. Ella didn't say anything for a bit, she just glared at Jason. Then she too got up and left. Carla was nowhere to be seen. The only other one person there was Michael. Jason said nothing to him, he just stared at the floor, until he too got up and left, leaving Jason alone in the kitchen. It was a long time before he left the room, leaving Carla alone and invisible with her thoughts.

She sat there for a bit, thinking over the scene that had just unfolded. As the Spy, it was her job to read people, to understand how they worked. She smirked. Her teammates were making that job _way _too easy for her. She considered Louis. Being the Soldier, it was his job to be manly and tough, but to react that violently to a shot at his manliness? There was definitely more there, definitely more. She sat there a bit longer, rolling the issue with Louis around in her mind. When she found no other bits she could inquire into, she pushed it aside. She'd figure him out later. On to the Scout.

Jason was an interesting one. On one hand, he seemed to act like all Scouts did, arrogant and brash, but on the other, he seemed to be afraid of pain, especially of being shot. Did something happen to him when he was younger? Most likely, she thought. But what… she'd have to steal his file, an easy task… but what about Noah?

She wasn't deaf, unlike her crack shot friend. She had heard the Heavy talking to Michael about his family. Long tours of duty, her ass. She'd bet her good foot that something else was going on there. But what…? He'd freaked out when the Pyro had mentioned him missing his family… yes, there was definitely something more there.

She smirked again. This was going to be _fun. _

[]

Miss Pauling stepped into the battered kitchen, not bothering to flick on the light. The middle of RED base was not the place to go stomping through at night, turning on lights. She shuddered to think what the Administrator would do to her if she was caught. Pauling hesitated for a moment, before walking onward. She continued on in the near-darkness, walking down the hall that lead to the mercs' rooms. She stopped at the door marked _Ella Fontaine, Sniper, _and pulled a letter out of her pocket_. _She knelt down and slid the letter under the door. She paused for a moment, wondering why she kept doing this, before getting up and exiting the hallway.

It was empathy, she decided, empathy for the hired killers, who, like her, had been pulled away from their lives, without a sliver of connection to her relatives. Mail might seem like an unnecessary luxury to the Administrator, but Pauling knew differently. She sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples. Risking her life, or worse, her job, just to be some sort of secret mailwoman for over a hundred hired killers… she was definitely crazy. And yet, here she was, she thought, sighing again. So she went off, back to her bed at TF headquarters, not realizing that someone there was sitting behind a screen, watching her.

[]

Michael Fyre got up from his bed at 6:30 that morning, after another sleepless night. He could have sworn he had heard someone in the hall last night… but he was probably hallucinating again. He went over to his bathroom to wash up. He removed his pajamas and stepped over to the shower, standing there staring at it like an old soldier stares down his enemy. He engaged briefly in a mental struggle with himself, not blinking or breaking his gaze.

_Just do it, you coward, you need a shower. _

_ Are you sure? I could always burn the stink off…_

_ Last time you tried that you singed yourself in places that I'd rather leave unnamed._

_ But—_

_ Just do it. Make it short._

So he steeled his nerve. Shifting slightly from foot to foot, he jumped forward, flinging the curtain open. He turned on the water, not bothering to check the temperature. He shut his eyes, bracing himself…

And so, at precisely 6:35 in the morning, the entirety of Teufort 4 was awoken by the screams of one very cold, very wet, and very unhappy Pyro.

**A/N: Teh-Dah! There it is.**

** NEED A DEMOMAN HERE.**

** The next chapter will be a lot more action-packed, a lot funnier, and a lot more BLU teamy.**

** Hell, if you guies want to send in some people for BLU. I'd be okay with that. I just can't promise them much screen time… or would that be word count? I dunno. **

** What are you up to, Pauling? Maybe we'll see…**

** So, until chapter four, seeya.**

** Also, if I haven't mentioned this yet… DEMOMAN. (Would a Demo's mom be a Demomom? I dunno.)**


End file.
